


Stiles Stilinski's Awkward, Embarrassing, Amazing Morning

by Remy (iamremy)



Series: Remy's tumblr fics [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU - Wizards, First Meeting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2018-02-18 21:17:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2362481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/Remy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strong><a href="http://deathby-stiles.tumblr.com">deathby-stiles</a></strong> asked:</p><p> </p><p>  <em>wizard AU where one accidentally apparates into the wrong house. preferably tw/sterek ofc but you can go with whatever.</em></p><p> </p><p><strong>Summary</strong>:</p><p>"Who the hell are you?" demands a voice.</p><p>Stiles looks up to see that the wand is attached to a very, very good-looking human being - who’s glaring down at him, thick eyebrows drawn together in a long line of judgment. “Who are you?” he repeats, voice rough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stiles Stilinski's Awkward, Embarrassing, Amazing Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [agent_izhyper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_izhyper/gifts).



Apparition has never been Stiles’s strong suit, okay? He’s more the flying kind. He’s much,  _much_ happier up in the air than while feeling like he’s being sucked through a narrow tube.

Suffice it to say that he only Apparates when it’s  _absolutely necessary_ (read: when he’s late for work and needs to get there before Lydia dismembers him). Today is certainly one of those days, and Stiles groans silently to himself. Fuck this shit, seriously.

This time it’s totally not his fault that he’s running late. It’s  _Scott’s_ fault. Scott told him that there’s a charm that’ll shut off the alarm clock for you instead of having to reach out and do it yourself, and because Stiles sometimes makes bad choices, he decided to try it out.

He needs to buy a new alarm clock now. He also needs to deal with the crater where his bed had once been.

He dresses quickly, pulling on whatever socks he can find, not bothering to knot his tie completely. Every second closer to 9 AM makes him panic a little extra. He closes his eyes, trying to focus and not particularly succeeding.  _Ministry,_ he tells himself, and then thinks,  _oh holy shit Lydia is going to kill me I’m so late can someone please rescue me **now**  _-

There’s the feeling again, like something’s got his ribcage in a vice and is squeezing tight. Another reason Stiles hates Apparating is because of how close it feels to having a panic attack. Before he can dwell on it, though, the feeling vanishes. He opens his eyes to find a wand trained on him.

"Who the hell are you?" demands a voice.

Stiles looks up to see that the wand is attached to a very,  _very_  good-looking human being - who’s glaring down at him, thick eyebrows drawn together in a long line of judgment. “Who are you?” he repeats, voice rough.

"Can you please put down the wand?" asks Stiles. "It’s distracting me."  _From your seriously hot body_ , he doesn’t add. What kind of impression would that make?

Hot Guy, predictably, does not lower his wand. “Why are you inside my house?” he demands.

Stiles blinks, looks around, realizes he’s in a living-room and not an office, and then groans loudly. “I fucked up.”

Hot Guy looks at him, unimpressed. Stiles elaborates, “Look, I was gonna Apparate to the Ministry, okay? Except I  _hate_  Apparition, it’s convenient but it’s total  _bullshit_ , okay? And I couldn’t focus because  _I’m so late Lydia will kill me_ so I messed up, okay?”

He lowers his wand a little. “You work for Lydia Martin?”

Stiles nods, surprised. “You know her?”

Hot Guy nods as well. “Family friends,” he says. “You must be the new guy. Stilinski?”

 _Oh shit he knows my name._  “Yep, that’s me,” Stiles replies, endeavoring to keep his tone casual. “She’s mentioned me?”

"Yeah. You’re the one who set her favorite skirt on fire."

"Oh my God it was an  _accident_!” Stiles groans, throwing his hands up in the air. “Why does she tell everyone about  _that_ , and not about the dragon thing?”

Despite himself, Hot Guy looks intrigued. “What dragon thing?”

Stiles eyes his wand. “Take that off me and maybe I’ll tell you.”

Hot Guy considers it, and then puts his wand away. “I’m Derek,” he says, somewhat grudgingly, like his name was something right out of the Department of Mysteries and couldn’t be told.

"Stiles," he replies, even though Hot Guy - Derek - already knows his name. Or, well, his surname. Whatever.

"Stiles," repeats Derek, like he’s testing the name on his tongue. "Okay."

Stiles looks at his watch. It’s 9:15 already, and Lydia is going to be furious. “Hey, I’m really sorry, Derek, but I gotta go. She’ll  _murder_ me. My dad’ll never find my body.”

Derek looks amused. “Yeah, okay,” he says.

"I’ll tell you about the dragon thing later?" Stiles offers, deciding to try his luck. "Maybe I’ll owl you, or something?"

"Okay," says Derek. He smiles a little, and Stiles almost dies. It’s  _adorable_. “You know where I live now.”

Stiles chuckles nervously. “Sorry about that, by the way. Just so you know, it’s totally Scott’s fault.”

"Who’s Scott?"

"My best friend. It’s a long, tragic story involving Firewhiskey and alarm clocks."

Derek raises his eyebrow. “Is it as good as the dragon story?”

Stiles can’t help it; he smiles too. “Why don’t you decide for yourself?” he says. Are they  _flirting_?

"I think I will," Derek says. He walks to the mantelpiece and holds out some Floo powder for Stiles. "Don’t Apparate, I think you’ll probably Splinch yourself."

Stiles would be indignant, but his fingers brush against Derek’s when he scoops up the powder, and the resulting tingling in his spine wipes all ideas of protest from his mind. “You’re so considerate,” is what comes out of his mouth instead.

He could die. How  _mortifying_.

"I’ll - um - I’ll go now," he says, and steps inside the fireplace. "Uh, see you around?"

Derek nods. “Yeah, that’d be nice.” He offers Stiles a hesitant smile. “I’m in the Auror Department, by the way, if you ever want to, I don’t know, talk? If you’re bored. Or something.”

"That’s so cool, dude," Stiles tells him, awed. "Have you, like, gone undercover?"

"Classified," Derek tells him with a wry smile. "Though maybe I’ll tell you. If you ask nicely," he adds, and his smile turns playful.

Yep, they’re definitely flirting. Stiles can’t believe his luck. A hot guy is  _flirting_  with him. How is this happening?

Oh God, please don’t let this be a dream.

He doesn’t realize he’s been staring until Derek snaps his fingers in Stiles’s face. “It’s 9:23,” he informs him. “If I were you I’d buy Lydia coffee on my way. You’re already late, the least you could do is soften the blow - so to speak.”

Stiles nods mutely, feeling his face warm up. “Thanks, dude,” he says. “Bye.”

"Bye," Derek replies, and  _smiles again_ , and suddenly all Stiles wants to do is kiss him. He can’t though, so he just smiles back and Floos out before he can embarrass himself further.

* * *

Somewhere around 11 AM, Lydia summons him to her office. “What did I do?” he asks apprehensively the moment he’s entered. She’s forgiven him for being late, so he doesn’t know what she could possibly be blaming him for this time.

She looks up at him. “Is there a good reason for why Derek Hale’s just owled me asking about you?”

Stiles’s mouth drops open. “What?” he almost screeches.

She nods, and holds up a roll of parchment. “Any idea why he’s suddenly very interested in knowing what kind of place you’d like to go to on a date?”

Stiles shuts his mouth. He thinks he might  _die_  on the spot. “He’s -  _interested_  in me?” he asks incredulously. “Like,  _actually_  interested?”

Lydia rolls her eyes. “Try to keep up, Stiles. And yes.”

Stiles’s brain shuts down right there, and he walks out of the office without answering her. He’ll pay for it later, but shit. He can’t bring himself to care.  _Derek Hale is interested in him_.

* * *

There’s a note on his desk when he gets back to it, after half an hour (he’d been down to see Scott, screeching all about his morning). It’s from Derek. In neat block print it says:

_How about going out, instead of you owling me? Maybe you can tell me about the dragon over dinner._

Stiles stares at it for a good five minutes, and then pumps his fist in the air and whoops.

 _Fuck yeah,_  he writes back.


End file.
